


Stargazing

by BrightShadow



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Absent Parents, Domestic Violence, Emotional neglect, Gen, I think it counts, Jack Drake's A+ parenting, Janet Drake's A+ Parenting, Parents Arguing, Tim Drake-centric, and break shit, but still, if this needs more tags tell me, nothing but yelling happens on screen, parents fighting, tables are punched and toppled, they don't hit each other but they do throw things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14593137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightShadow/pseuds/BrightShadow
Summary: A short, sweet, drabble about Tim growing up while his parents argue until, of course, they don't.Tim does a lot of stargzing.





	Stargazing

Tim is four months old and for the first time this month his parents are home. Janet and Jack are arguing.

__Again__.

In Janet’s arms Tim begins to whimper. In the heat of their anger it goes unheard. The whimpers evolve into hiccups and then sobs. It’s not until Tim begins to wail that they notice their son’s distress. Janet looks down at Tim with a frustrated expression “Dammit, __again,__ ” Janet says, incredulous, “when do they grow out of this?” The nanny is already there when Janet whirls to look for him, the nanny’s name on her tongue. Gratitude flickers across her frustrated face and she immediately presses Tim into the nanny’s arms. “He’s a __child__  Janet crying is what they __do,”__  Jack says with a sneer as his son passes into the nanny’s arms. Janet’s expression sours and she whips back around to lay in to her husband the second Tim is transferred over, already picking the argument right back up.

“Don’t patronizeme Jack! __You’re__ not the one dealing with it __all day long__!” Neither notice the quiet click of the door as the nanny whisks Tim away to a quieter place. The arguing continues for several hours more, ending only when a door slams with a crash that shakes the house and a car screeches out of the driveway and into the night. It sets of Tim again and the nanny sighs, bouncing Tim absently as he stares up at the stars, mentally reviewing his resume.

* * *

 

Tim is four years old and for the first time in three months his parents are home. It’s not for long, they’re one week into a two week layover they’re using to tidy things up at home between digs and corporate work. His parents are arguing again. They’ve been arguing since their third day home.

Ms. Mac, the live in nanny the Drakes locked into a contract after the twelfth resignation, has long since escaped on ‘errands.’ She probably won’t return until late that night. The Drakes won’t ask what kept her, probably haven’t even noticed she’s gone, but if they do Tim knows she’ll pretend she ran into traffic. It's a quick and easy excuse his parents's won't bother to check.

Downstairs the arguing has reached the yelling stage. Once they get loud enough that putting his pillow over his head no longer blocks them out Tim gives up on sleeping and gets up.

With practiced ease he disconnects his window’s security and pops the screen out. Tim climbs out onto his tiny window balcony-meant for looks more than use- pops the screen back in, and climbs onto the roof. The space is narrow enough that it takes careful maneuvering to do without falling or dropping the screen but Tim has done it enough times that it’s easy.

Up on the roof Tim looks at the sky, far enough out of the city to have a few real stars, and closes his eyes. He breathes in as deep as he can and lets it out slowly. The upset that always comes from his parents fighting slides away and Tim opens his eyes again. He tucks himself into his favorite nook and rubs the remains of tears from his face. There’s a bang from inside the house followed by a crash and Tim flinches. Sounds like they made it to the punching tables or walls and throwing things stage.

Tim takes a blanket out from under the bit of architectural detail he stuffs it under to protect it from the elements. It’s slightly damp and smells a bit funny but Tim bundles up under it anyway. Ignoring the occasional noise that drifts up Tim uses what stars he can see to pick out constellations, adding the missing stars from memory until he’s half convinced himself he can just faintly see them. Sometimes when his parents are away Tim will make sure every light in the house is off and come up here hoping to be able to pick out a few more stars. He doesn’t know if it works or if it’s just his imagination. It’s a habit, like falling asleep on the roof while he stargazes and his parents argue.

* * *

 

Tim is fourteen and his parents are home for the first time this year. They probably wouldn't be but one of the museums they work with is throwing a memorial day party and Janet determined that they absolutely _can't_ afford to miss it.

They've been home two days when the snips and small arguments turn into fights and the screaming downstairs rises to the fever pitch which usually preludes things breaking. He’s already half out the window when the sound of something shattering echos up the stairs. A vase he’s pretty sure. Tim sighs and slips onto the roof.

He steps across it and leaps for the huge oak overtaking much of the yard; quick, agile, and silent. In the enormous branches of the oak he knows that if he turns just so he’ll be able to see the figures of his parents, arms flying and things breaking. There’s something to be said for your closest neighbors being miles away: no one to call the cops on your domestics.

Tim’s shoulders twitch as something large crashes to the floor. Probably the end table the vase sat on. Tim doesn’t turn around. He steps into the night, unnoticed as always, and moves to the faint glow that can be seen in the distance where Wayne Manor resides. He reaches the dirt bike Bruce gave him to travel to and from the manor faster, stashed far enough away that his parent’s won’t hear the noise-not that they would over the racket they’re making.

* * *

 

Tim is fifteen and his parents have been home for over three weeks without arguing. It would be a miracle if his mother weren’t dead and his father wasn’t in a coma. 

He can't sleep so he pulls his blanket off the bed and slips out onto the balcony. He curls up in the corner between the railing and a potted plant and stares up at the stars. Even just these few miles out there are almost twice the stars. He stays out there for hours, unable to stop listening for the sound of fighting, until he dozes off.


End file.
